


Warm Feeling

by Laylah



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dubious Consent, F/F, Status Effects, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meracle's ears prick straight up when Myuria touches her -- surprise, most likely -- but after a moment she nods. "It makes me feel a little funny," she says. "But it's kind of nice. It's a warm feeling."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Feeling

Edge is a sweet boy, really, but he's hopeless -- tied up in knots over that friend of his, neither willing to make the first move nor to enjoy a little stress relief with someone else. Myuria thinks she's going to have to find some other way to entertain herself, if he won't take an extremely unsubtle hint.

Fortunately, she won't have to look too far. After this last round of crew reshuffling, Myuria wound up with the little Fellpool girl in her room, and Meracle may be somewhat flighty for her taste, but preferable to most of the other options on shipboard and easier to convince than Arumat would be. Myuria considers her options, and makes her preparations.

There's an aromatherapy piece she designed with Reimi and Lymle's help that seems just the thing for her purposes -- something to help her roommate relax and feel perhaps a bit more enthusiastic about helping her out. Crafting the piece is simple enough with the plans at hand, and Myuria brings it back to her room, setting it on the little built-in shelf and activating the diffuser. All she has to do now is wait.

When Meracle shows up, disheveled and pink-cheeked already -- she must have been chasing that silly Featherfolk girl again -- her eyes go wide and she sniffs curiously. "It smells funny in here," she says.

"Oh, does it?" Myuria says. She gets up from her bed, smiling. "I thought you might like it. The room needed a homey touch, don't you think?" She keys in the lock for the door; Edge's company is usually welcome, but she doesn't terribly want to be interrupted right now.

"Mmm," Meracle says. She wanders over to study the piece, her head cocked to one side. Her ears flick back and forth, and her tail curls up in fascination. "You can smell it too, right?"

Myuria comes to stand behind her. "I find it pleasant," she says. She rests her hands on Meracle's shoulders. "Don't you?"

Meracle's ears prick straight up when Myuria touches her -- surprise, most likely -- but after a moment she nods. "It makes me feel a little funny," she says. "But it's kind of nice. It's a warm feeling."

"Warm, hmm?" Myuria says. She pulls Meracle back against her, feeling the ticklish brush of the tips of Meracle's ears beneath her chin. "Warm all over, or is it someplace in particular?"

Meracle squirms a little, humming as if she's thinking about it. "Someplace in particular," she says after a minute. Her voice has taken on the needy little mewling tone it gets when she's trying to convince the rest of them to do something for her.

"Let me see if I can guess," Myuria says. She slides her hands down, following the seams of Meracle's bodysuit, until she can brush her fingers over the tiny stiff peaks of Meracle's nipples. "Here?" she asks.

Meracle shivers, and the noise she makes is far more feline than human. She nods frantically. "There," she says. The Fellpool are sensual creatures as a rule, and the Lesser Fellpool especially so, but this is still delightfully simple. Myuria pinches her nipples, twists them, and Meracle yowls, arching back into her.

"Yes," Myuria murmurs. "I thought so." She'd expected to have to do a _little_ more convincing than this; either Meracle's keen sense of smell is making her particularly susceptible to the aroma, or her smaller size gives her less tolerance to intoxicants in general.

In either case, she's clinging to Myuria's forearms with both hands, whimpering when Myuria twists particularly roughly. "Oh," she says, "f-feels so -- want to --"

Myuria lets go of her, and laughs when that makes Meracle whine and lash her tail. "I'm not stopping," she says. She reaches up to unhook the clasps of her own bodice and shrugs out of it, letting it fall to the floor. "I just want you to do your fair share. Turn around."

Meracle turns, and her eyes widen when she discovers just how close that brings her face to Myuria's bare breasts. "You're feeling it, too?" she says.

"I am," Myuria says. "Suck on them for me." She cradles one hand behind Meracle's upswept ears and pulls her into place. Meracle's rough little tongue laps at her nipple and it's her turn to shiver with pleasure. "Good girl," she says. "Just like that."

Meracle makes a sweet little purr, leaning into her, rubbing against her as she obeys. Myuria indulges the suggestion, teasing Meracle's nipples between her fingers. She'd reach down further if Meracle were just a little bit taller, but she doesn't think she can quite reach anything rewarding without making Meracle change positions -- and that would be a waste, when she's turning out to be so clever with that rough tongue and tiny sharp teeth.

"Do you play with yourself when you're alone? Touch yourself between your legs?" she asks, and Meracle mewls assent. "Do it now," Myuria says. "You want to, don't you?"

"Mm-hmm," Meracle says, reaching down, pushing her fingers inside her leotard where it dips lowest. How _easy_ it is -- how available she is! Myuria wonders if she got that costume from her captors, or if she was already being groomed for this sort of future before she left Roak in the first place.

The answer doesn't matter; the question alone is enough to make Myuria's clit ache. She lets Meracle go and unbuckles her skirt, letting it fall away. She pushes her panties down and steps back, leaning against the little desk that juts out of the wall. Meracle looks her up and down, eyes wide.

"Wow," she says. "Myuria, you're so...."

"You like what you see?" Myuria says. She knows she's impressive -- her breasts, her hips, her legs, the crimson marks of Morphus symbology that adorn her skin. "On your knees, darling."

Meracle's tail flicks and curls behind her, and she does just what she's told. "Like this?"

"Good," Myuria says. "Now come closer." She parts the lips of her cunt with her fingers; the flesh feels slick and swollen. "I want you to lick me in the same place you're touching yourself."

Meracle leans closer. "You smell good," she says.

Myuria rubs her slick fingers across Meracle's lip. "I'm going to taste good, too," she says. She watches Meracle lick her lips, then threads a hand into her hair and pulls her close.

She _knows_ Meracle's tongue will feel rough, but she still shivers to actually feel it. The little kitten licks of her tongue are maddening, delicious. "Good girl," Myuria says, leaning back to let the desk take more of her weight. Meracle purrs, squirming at her feet.

It feels like Meracle climaxes easily and often, from the way she moves -- her strokes will falter for a moment, her tail stiffening, and she croons faintly. The third time she does it, Myuria tugs on one of her ears. "Don't be so selfish," she says. "I'm glad you like this, but --" she grinds against Meracle's mouth -- "don't stop, either."

Meracle whimpers an apology and redoubles her efforts. It feels good, almost too intense, those rough little strokes focused right where Myuria wants them -- she cups her breasts in her own hands, toying with her nipples and letting those little bursts of sensation feed into the building pleasure between her legs. Meracle climaxes again, and this time to keep from another reprimand she closes her mouth around Myuria's clit and sucks.

"Yes," Myuria says -- gasps -- "Like that, darling, just like --" and her own climax overtakes her, making her shudder, making her hand clench tight in Meracle's hair.

Nearly as soon as her trembling stops, Meracle is reaching up to tug at her wrist. She turns her head so she can speak without the words being lost against Myuria's flesh. "Let go," she says. "You're pulling too hard."

"Ah, am I?" Myuria says. She lets go, stroking Meracle's ears in apology. "I didn't mean to."

Meracle's eyes fall half shut and she leans into the touch, purring. "Just don't do it again," she says, sounding not at all threatening.

Myuria smiles. "Of course," she says. She lets go so she can stretch, and watches in amusement as Meracle wipes her face with her hands. "I do hope we can do the rest of this again sometime, though."

"Maybe," Meracle says, but her little smile makes it plain she's just being coy.

"Good," Myuria says. She leaves her clothes where they are and goes to fetch her towel. "I'll look forward to it."


End file.
